


Killer | Queen: Gretna Green, September 1936

by rainpuddle13



Series: Killer | Queen [4]
Category: Agatha Christie's Poirot (TV), And Then There Were None (TV 2015), CHRISTIE Agatha - Works
Genre: Drama, F/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-28
Updated: 2016-05-28
Packaged: 2018-07-10 18:53:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,291
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7000354
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rainpuddle13/pseuds/rainpuddle13
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>See, the luck I've had can make a good man turn bad.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Killer | Queen: Gretna Green, September 1936

_Gretna Green, Scotland, September 1936_

“Who was the first person you killed?” Alice asked, snuggling against Philip’s side and pulling the heavy tartan blanket closer around her.  The roaring fire in the sitting room grate was doing little to ward off the chill of wild and wet September evening. They’d stopped for the night in the little town of Gretna Green just the other side of the Scottish border when the rain had turned heavy and wind started to gust. Philip hadn’t wanted to chance driving the rest of the way to Glasgow with night falling.  

He wrapped his arm tighter around her shoulders, and sighed. “The first person I killed? Why?” 

“Just curious,” she answered, slipping her cold hand under his jumper and shirt to find the warm skin of stomach, fingers instantly drawn to lightly trace along the roughly three-inch raised scar on his left side just below the last rib. He recoiled a bit at the intrusion, but didn’t try to stop her. “We all have to start somewhere.” 

“I suppose so,” he drawled, obviously deep in thought. “First killed or first murdered?” 

She glanced up to see the expression on his face, to see if she could cypher what he was thinking. His question to her was unexpected since she’d never really given it much thought, really; a dead person was dead.  “There’s a difference?” 

“Yes.” 

“Alright. First person murdered.” 

“Edmund Reddington.” 

“And he was?” 

“A Protestant bastard.” 

“Oh.” His deep-seated hatred of the British in Ireland always took her by surprise when it came up, and it shouldn’t as she knew he’d had dealings with the IRA years before he’d met her. She just didn’t know to what extent since getting anything out of him about his life before her was like trying to get blood from a stone. 

“Sorry,” he mumbled, brushing a kiss to the top of her head, “but you asked.” 

“I know.” She hated the small niggling of fear about Philip that would rear its ugly head from time to time. He had never given her pause for concern since their first night together when he’d confessed he had given thought to killing her, but had changed his mind for reasons known only to him. The fact remained that she was about as British and Protestant as one could get and Philip was a dangerous, unpredictable Irishman. It would be foolish to forget that no matter how in love with him she was. 

He had been quiet for a while before he spoke again and the silence was beginning to unnerve Alice as she tried to gauge his thoughts. “It’s got nothing to do with you,” Philip assured her, pulling her a little closer into his side. “You have to know by now I’d never do anything to cause you harm.” 

“How’d you know what I was thinking?” she asked him, nuzzling her cheek against his shoulder. 

“Because I know you almost better than I know myself,” he confessed, and she knew he spoke the truth. 

“That you do." She leaned up to press a tender kiss to the corner of his mouth. “And it scares me sometimes.” Since he was being honest, she might as well be too. Quid pro quo. 

“I’m sure you know my thoughts more often than not.”  He offered her his glass of whisky and she shook her head, finding the Scotch whisky too raw for her tastes. 

“I don’t most of the time,” she acknowledged softly, feeling very inadequate.  “You’re so very good at keeping yourself closed off, even from me.” 

He heaved a sigh. “I’m sorry, Alice.  It’s a habit of self-preservation.” 

“I figured as much.” Alice could only speculate about his upbringing from the very few bits of information Philip had let slip about his childhood. His father had died when he was young. His mother had gone to work in the kitchen of the manor house near their village. He’d had gone to school until he was fourteen and did odd jobs around the estate to earn the fees. His life had been so very different than hers. “I do know when you’re angry though,” she said with a small little smile. 

“Is that so?” Philip set the glass down and reached for his cigarette case, but thought better of it. 

“Aye,” she answered, playfully mimicking his accent and reached up to touch the sharp line of his jaw. “You clench your teeth. I can see it here, a small little tick.” 

“I didn’t know I did that,” he said, sounding bemused by her observation. “I guess it’s my tell.” 

“No, no,” she was quick to say, "it’s barely noticeable if you don’t know what to look for.” 

“Good to know. I’d hate to give myself away.” 

“You’ve no worries on that front, handsome.” She could feel his grimace when she used the pet name she had for him. He hated it so she used it sparingly since the last thing she wanted to do was poke the bear. 

“You frown.” 

“I frown?” 

“Mmm,” he hummed, reaching to brush the pad of his thumb along her bottom lip, and she could feel the corners of her mouth draw down.  “A cute little petulant frown that belies what’s about to happen.” 

“So you say,” she said, a bit put out. 

“I know, I’ve seen it.” He tipped her chin up with long fingers to lightly touch his lips to hers. “My ferocious little kitten.” 

She practically melted into a puddle at his tender touch. Philip was the only the man who could make her weak at the knees with just a few words or a simple kiss. It was both heady and frightening that one person should have so much power over her. “Philip,” she breathed after he kissed her again, this time more thoroughly, leaving her almost scrambled enough to admit her feelings for him, “you still owe me answer.” 

“Why don’t we leave it for another time?” he asked, almost pleading. 

Her brows furrowed, her playful mood dissipating instantly. He’d never hesitated to answer her before. “Is it that bad?” 

“It’s probably something you do not want to hear,” he admitted, grabbing for his cigarette case to fumble lighting one before taking several deep drags.  His hand was shaking. 

“What is it, Philip?” she asked, suddenly very concerned, sitting up to create some distance between them, and immediately feeling bereft of his warmth and comfort.   “What don’t you want to tell me?” 

“I don’t want you afraid of me,” he admitted softly by way of an answer to her questions. A cold chill slithered its way up her spine.  She couldn’t begin to fathom what he could have possibly done to evoke this reaction from him. Whatever it was, it was bad. 

This was it, she feared. The moment she could no longer pretend she didn't know what sort of man Philip Lombard was deep down. The choice was simple really when it came down to it. Alice reached for his hand, entwining their fingers despite his resistance. “That will never happen, ever, Philip. Do you hear me? Never.” 

“The first person I killed was the daughter of the house where my mam worked as a kitchen maid,” he said without one drop of emotion. “Flora Christie.” 

She blinked in shock at what he’d just confessed to her. As far was she was aware, Philip had never harmed, let alone killed, a woman. He wouldn’t even take a contract involving women or children. “W-why?” she asked, hating the waver in her voice. 

“She didn’t keep her word to me.” He poured himself another whisky from the bottle sitting on the coffee table, tossing the contents of the glass back in one go, and pouring another. 

“And that was?” Alice asked, needing to know because her imagination was starting to run wild with what would bad enough to drive him to kill. Philip was the coldest, most calculating person she’d ever met when it came to the art of killing. It was very difficult to believe he’d ever done anything in the heat of passion, no matter how angry he’d been. 

He closed his eyes and let his head fall back against the gold velvet of the sofa. “Flora promised to me love me forever, but she didn’t,” he said in careful, measured words. 

“Oh.” It was all Alice could think to say. It was no secret that Philip had a long list of unsavory things in his past, just as she did, but nothing hit as close to home as this and it rattled her.

“I can see I’ve shocked you speechless.” He turned his head and opened his dark eyes to look at her and it was all she could do not to squirm under his gaze. 

“Yes, I mean no,” she said, correcting herself quickly, her cheeks turning pink from his continued scrutiny as she tried to wrap her head around his bombshell admission.  

“In my defense,” he muttered, taking another drag off his cigarette before flicking the butt into the fireplace, “I was young and rather stupid.” 

“How?” she blurted out, the burning need to know the details was threatening to consume her. “How’d you do it?” 

“Alice,” he said mildly, putting his hand on her curled up knees, “I don’t think you want to know the details.” 

“I do,” she insisted. “I need to know.” 

“I wrapped my hands around her slender neck and squeezed with all of my might until she stopped fighting me and the life went out of her green eyes.” He drew in a deep breath. “I’ve never told another living soul what happened that sunny May afternoon.” 

“Understandable.” She swallowed hard, trying to reconcile the man before her and the boy he once was, and finding it difficult to do so. “She ruined other women for you,” Alice said as a statement of fact rather than a question. 

“Yes,” he conceded, “for the longest time I thought all women were treacherous bitches, not a one to be trusted.” 

“I see.” Alice could feel all the color drain from her face right along with any hope that Philip would return her love. It had been a long shot at best with him, being who he was, but she’d always held out hope that he would find some small place in his heart for her, and after everything they’d shared.  Now she was not so sure. 

“But,” Philip continued, giving her knee a gentle squeeze, “I’ve learned over time that there can be rare exceptions.” 

“W-what?” She drew her eyes up to meet his, rims brimming with unshed tears, her heart starting to pound in her chest. 

“You’re an extraordinary woman, Alice. Beautiful. Smart. Strong. Amazing. Resourceful. I could go on.” Half of a naughty little smirk quirked up one corner of his mouth. 

She was bewildered by the turn in the conversation. “I don’t understand.” 

“It doesn’t matter now.” Philip gave a sad little chuckle. 

“Yes, it does, Philip,” she urged him on, “it matters a great deal. What are you trying to say?” 

He didn’t move or say anything for the longest time, the only sound in the room beyond their breathing was the crackling of the fire; and she held his warm hazel eyes with her own. “I guess I’m trying to say that I don’t like the idea of a life without you in it, but I suppose…” he trailed off into silence again. 

“You've just ruined things?” She had to work very hard to keep her giddiness at his concession tamped down. If anything, it had made her love Philip just that much more for having the courage to tell her about Flora Christie, knowing it might be the thing that finally made her rethink her association with him. 

“Aye,” he agreed, “at least now you know my darkest secret, for better or for worse.” 

“And you're wrong,” she assured him, burrowing back into his side for warmth, and smiling when he took her left hand in his to play with the heavy plain gold band she’d worn on her ring finger since they’d met up in Istanbul and needed to pretend to be married to share a cabin on a train. “I hate what she did to you and the pain she caused, but I’m glad you shared it with me.” 

“You are?” He sounded surprised. 

“Yes.” She leaned up just far enough to press a soft kiss to the sensitive little spot just below his throat.  “Everyone is a sum of their parts and that was just another little piece of you that is all.” 

“I see,” he pondered, “and you’re not afraid I’d do the same thing to you some day?” 

“No.” She used her fingers on his jaw to turn his head to look him in the eye so he would know the truth in her words. “Because I would _never_ break my promise to you.” 

He laughed and finally relaxed completely, nearly becoming one with the sofa.  “You’re a remarkable woman, Alice Cunningham.” 

“Lombard,” she corrected and attempted to punch him in the stomach, but he thwarted her attempt with a strong hand. It’d been so long since she’d used her real name that it sounded almost unnatural to her ears.   

“Alice Lombard,” he amended while his fingers fiddled with her wedding ring again.  “Has a nice ring to it doesn’t it?” 

“I like to think so,” she responded warily, not sure where he was going with this. They’d been husband and wife in every way that matter except legally for years. 

“That’s good,” he said nonchalantly. “I figured since we’re stuck here, we might as well look into make it official in the morning.”

**Author's Note:**

> If you're not familiar with Gretna Green, it is a small village just over the border in Scotland that has been famous for "runaway" marriages since the mid-1750s, or basically Las Vegas of the British Isles (except without the tacky commercialism or gambling).
> 
> Thank you Mmmuse for the beta and suggestions to make this better. I couldn't have done this without you.


End file.
